Firefly Forever Again
by CountryGirl914
Summary: Because there are so many more quotes out there, just waiting to be used... First one is angsty, but the rest should be humorous.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I have so, SO many other stories I need to be working on. But when the muse strikes, you can't really disobey, can you?

The first one was just too much fun. This story will be a collection of random drabbles/vignettes/whatever continuing on the theme of House characters quoting Firefly. Don't count on much or any continuity, or regular updating. I'm just going to write these as they come to me. ;-P

And the first one, strangely, is angsty instead of funny. Definitely wasn't planning that—the vast majority of these are going to be (or, I guess I should say, are _supposed_ to be) humorous. But, like I said above, it's impossible to disobey the muse. So here we are.

**Feedback:** Is LOVE and is read over and over and over…you get the drift. Please review!

* * *

Cameron backed away from the gurney, allowing the other doctors to do their jobs. She could vividly feel House's blood on her hands, even through the gloves, and desperately tried to distract herself, or else she would either throw up or collapse in hysterics. _Ketamine. Tell Cuddy he wants ketamine._ She seized upon the thought, and the words looped through her mind like a mantra. 

_Tell Cuddy he wants ketamine. _

"_You're going to be fine." "You don't know that." _

_No—no! Ketamine…tell Cuddy he wants ketamine…_

She sensed movement, and then Chase and Foreman were on either side of her, the three of them watching House cling to life. They just stood there for a moment, the everyday routines of the hospital fading away into blurs of color and indistinct murmurs. They couldn't _do_ anything, and she hated the feeling of helplessness.

It was Chase who broke the silence, his voice strained. "When you can't run, you crawl…" Cameron let out a choked sob, and Chase bowed his head, unable to continue.

Foreman did. "And when you can't crawl—" He had to stop for a moment, to compose himself. "When you can't do that…"

Cameron looked up at the ceiling, trying to keep the tears clouding her vision from overflowing. Her voice was thick with emotion when she spoke. "You find someone to carry you."

They'd carried House as far as they could.

Now they just had to hope the other doctors could carry him the rest of the way.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Argh. I really should be working on the myriad of other stories I have in various stages of completion. Oh, well—at least I'm writing something. And the humor is back. Yay!

A clarification of sorts—while some of these one-shots won't be just straight up quoting, they _will_ all relate back to Firefly. Somehow.

And now for a question—when I do use quotes or situations from the series or the movie, do you guys want me to reference where I got it at the end of the page? I have a feeling I might choose some pretty obscure things sometimes.

Also, I have no medical knowledge besides what I see on House and my ability to Google, so all mistakes are mine. I apologize in advance if I ever play fast and loose with the medicine.

**Feedback:** Is read over and over…no, seriously—I've probably read the five reviews I've gotten around ten times already. Thank you all! And PLEASE review.

* * *

Cuddy opened the door to the diagnostics conference room and surveyed the scene in front of her. Chase was chewing on his pen as he worked on a crossword puzzle, Foreman was reading a journal, Cameron looked to be doing some research online, and House…was playing his video game. Of course. She tossed a folder on the table. "Found you a case."

The three fellows looked up at her with relief, and Foreman let out a deep breath. "Thank _God_."

"Don't go finding religion just yet," House snarked as he reached for the folder. "Cuddy has a knack for finding cases that can be solved in five minutes or less."

She just rolled her eyes as House scanned the various reports in the file, and started relating the case to the others from memory. "Twenty-five year old male, diagnosed with narcolepsy eight months ago. They'd been able to control it decently with medication, but then five days ago he had a psychotic episode immediately before a sleep attack lasting three hours. His normal attacks barely last thirty minutes."

House frowned and spoke up when Cuddy paused. "And unless he's somehow related to a hummingbird, his heart definitely shouldn't be beating this fast." He stood and turned to the whiteboard, starting to write down the man's symptoms, but Chase's snort stopped him in the middle of "elevated heartbeat." The four other doctors in the room turned to the Australian, and House raised an eyebrow. "When did undiagnosed, debilitating diseases become funny? Cause, ya know, I totally missed that memo."

Chase, still grinning, shook his head. "Come on, none of you find it funny that—" He stopped, eyes widening, as he took in the blank expressions around him. "You really don't see it—the similarities?"

Foreman looked at him as if he was speaking gibberish. "Man, what are you on about?"

Chase started grinning, his smile getting bigger by the moment as the confusion of his coworkers increased. "You don't! I can see the similarity that none of you do—this, this has never happened before. I love it!" He turned his grin to Cuddy, and the complete and utter joy in his expression made her smile back. "You have made my day," he told her happily.

Cameron was still staring at him, her eyebrows scrunched together. "So…are you going to explain all this now?" she asked.

"No, no—not yet," Chase stated, shaking his head. "I'm going to take a bit, soak this all in." He leaned back in his chair and threw his arms out wide, as if basking in the moment.

Until House poked him with his cane. "Out with it, Wombat."

Still grinning, his feet hit the floor with a soft thump and he planted his elbows on the table. "This guy had a psychotic episode immediately followed by a narcoleptic sleep attack. So, in other words…" He looked around the table at his colleagues in giddy anticipation as he finished his sentence. "He just went crazy and fell asleep."

The room was silent for a moment, and then Cameron started giggling, bringing a hand to her mouth when she degenerated into sniggering. Foreman and House had wide grins on their faces. "This is true," House stated, spinning back to the whiteboard, writing "Jayne" at the top of the symptoms list and underlining it with a flourish.

Cuddy frowned, even more confused now. "House, the man's name is Thomas Jones."

"So?" House shot back. "Would you rather have me write 'Crazy Sleepy Guy'?" He turned again to his underlings at the table. "Differential diagnosis, people."

She rolled her eyes heavenward, muttered a soft "Whatever," and strode out of the room. Wilson, who had been hovering outside the door, fell in step with her as she made her way to her office. "Aren't you ever going to try to find out what all that is about?" he asked, smiling as he waved his hand in the direction of Diagnostics. It had to be driving her crazy, being out of the loop like this.

"Nope," she said cheekily, and smirked when he started, shocked. "James," she said, "Ever since this all started, House hasn't missed an hour of clinic duty, and complaints about him have gone down by over sixty percent. I could absolutely care less about what's going on." They reached her office, and Cuddy pulled open the door and turned around to face the other doctor. "I just don't want them to stop. _Ever_."

She went in, and Wilson grinned as the door closed behind her.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I'm not sure how good this is, but I needed to write something before school STOLE MY SOUL. And because I have way too many story ideas in my head. They're taking up valuable memory space.

In case anyone didn't realize it—I have a prequel to these short stories called just "Firefly Forever." Feel free to go check it out!

**Feedback:** Wins. Please review!

* * *

House was playing his ever-present video game when Cuddy walked into exam room one in the clinic. But that was okay—there was nothing he could do that would put a damper on her mood today. "House."

The man in question pointedly ignored her, concentrating intently on the beeping device in his hands. She tried again, louder this time. "_House_."

He finally paused the game and looked up at her, fake surprise on his face. "Oh, Cuddy, it's you! All I could see out of the corner of my eye was cleavage and a short skirt—I should have realized who it was right away."

Cuddy ignored House's verbal barbs. "No hiding in the clinic, House. You're supposed to be seeing patients."

"C'mon, Mom, do I _have_ to?" he whined, hopping off the exam table he'd been lounging on and moving toward the door. "Especially since you're here now—we can swap! So I'll be on my way now…"

It was the perfect moment, and Cuddy seized the opportunity. "Oh, House, I've been meaning to ask you—have you heard about the convention being held in town in two weeks? The actors from some defunct television show are going to talk..."

Hand reaching for the door handle, House snorted. "I could really care less, Cuddy. What in the world could have brought this up?" He turned away from her and started opening the door, with no intentions of waiting to hear her answer.

A self-satisfied smile started to curl up the corners of her mouth. "Just thought you might have heard of it. Such an unusual name for a show—_Firefly_."

House froze mid-stride. A few seconds passed in silence before he slowly, painstakingly turned back to face her, eyes wide in astonishment. The smile on Cuddy's face turned into a triumphant smirk as she held aloft the slip of paper. "Tickets have been sold out for weeks. But I have friends, and know people who have friends…you don't need to know the specifics. All that matters is that I was able to procure four tickets to this event. I already gave the other three to Chase, Foreman, and Cameron—a gift from the hospital, for all their hard work so far this year. That leaves this one." She twirled it around her fingers, watching with amusement as House followed its path with his eyes, leaning forward a little in yearning. "I could give it to you now, but I think it'll be better if I hold onto it for you. You never know what could happen. It's so easy to lose tickets, or _accidently_ ruin them…you know?"

She watched House's internal struggle play out over his face. As much as he wouldn't want to admit it, there really was no way out. She had him right where she wanted him, and they both knew it.

Sighing heavily, House visibly deflated as he came to the same conclusion. "Fine. What are your demands?"

"First," Cuddy stated, holding up a finger to start counting them off, "the seminar on Friday. You will go, you will not make the presenter cry, and you will mingle afterwards, no matter how much you hate it. Second, you will complete all of your clinic hours between now and the convention, without complaining or hiding. And finally, you will just generally _behave_. I don't want to hear a single complaint about you from anyone."

House was horrified. "That's harassment! Blackmail!"

The smile gracing her lips got even wider. "No, that's doing business, House. So, do we have a deal?"

The baleful look he threw her way almost made her laugh out loud, but she somehow managed to hold it in. "I hate you," House muttered under his breath, then thrust his hand out stiffly for her to shake. "Deal."

For the next two weeks, House was a different person. He did what he was told, when he was told. He didn't scare the nurses or the patients, although he had to physically bite his tongue at times to prevent a caustic comment from escaping. His fellows and Wilson seemed to know what was going on—they'd been walking around the hospital with gleeful smirks on their faces—but no one else could figure it out. He wasn't talking about it either, only letting out a few mutterings of "Blackmail" and "Devil woman" if some brave soul got close enough to eavesdrop. They were the worst two weeks of House's life.

Cuddy, reclining happily in the rare quiet of her office, had a different viewpoint—they were two of the best weeks of hers. She picked up the phone and dialed. "House," she said, the laughter apparent in her tone, "I heard that you and your team just finished with your last patient. Since you have nothing else to do now, I thought it would probably be a good idea if you went down to the clinic. At the rate you're going, pretty soon you might not even be behind anymore." She grinned. "Yes, I know you appreciate the reminder. You're welcome."

It was times like these that made her remember how much she loved her job.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** This chapter has House/Cameron-ness in it. I'm sorry for those of you who don't like that—the shipper in me couldn't resist. I don't see that becoming a big theme in this series, however.

I'm also not sure how good this chapter is, but since I just spent the day finishing it instead of studying for the test I have tomorrow…or the one I have Tuesday…_or_ the one I have Thursday, I figured I needed to have proof that I was at least doing something. I reserve the right to edit this if I come up with anything better.

This one's for **vartanluvva**. Just…because. If you like it, Michelle, you can consider it a late birthday present. ;-P

**Feedback:** Wins. Please review!

* * *

House glowered at his scotch before downing it in one quick swallow. He hated fundraising parties. If rich snobs wanted to give the hospital money, why couldn't they just hand the checks over to Cuddy, instead of forcing everyone to get dressed up and schmooze with people whose names they would forget seconds after speaking with them? It was a stupid, idiotic, waste of time—time better spent in his apartment, playing his piano or watching Tivo'd cartoons and the OC. At least this one wasn't as bad as some of the previous ones, he ruminated as the bartender refilled his drink. As it was only a few days away from Halloween, someone had gotten the bright idea to make this a _costume_ benefit. While that didn't completely make up for his still having to attend, it did make the night much more bearable.

Grabbing his refill, House spun in his chair to observe the masses, long brown coat flaring out slightly. A red button down shirt could be seen underneath, as well as suspenders holding up khaki pants, which were tucked into tall leather boots. The pants and boots had been a bitch to get on, with his leg, but he had deemed that a small price to pay for the overall effect. Although, he thought, shifting uncomfortably, the character didn't earn the nickname of "Captain Tightpants" for nothing. It was a good thing he didn't have to move much tonight.

He saw two of his fellows striding towards him over the rim of the glass. Foreman made a quite convincing Book, outfitted in priest garb, complete with the requisite white collar. And Chase…House snickered at the gold vest the Australian was wearing. It fit, somehow, Chase as Simon. They even shared the same horrible fashion sense.

Foreman chuckled as they approached their boss. "Seems like we all had the same idea," he stated, nodding his head to get the bartender's attention. "Wonder who Cameron will show up as?"

"Like there's any question about that," House snarked. "Naïve, bubbly, always believing in sunshine and puppies? She's going to be Kaylee—no doubt about that."

Chase, who was looking over House's shoulder, suddenly sucked in a breath, then let it out in a long whistle. Eyes wide, never looking back at House, he said, "You sure about that?"

House turned…and stopped breathing.

Cameron was just walking into the room. She was wearing a deep purple dress, some kind of Asian design woven into it in gold thread. All plunging neckline and long, flowing skirt, it seemed made for her, accentuating all her curves as she walked. Gold jewelry glinted at her neck, wrist, and ears, and her hair was down, curls caressing her bare shoulders. Eyes lined with kohl and lips painted blood red, there was no mistaking Cameron's intent. She hadn't come to the benefit as Kaylee.

She'd come as Inara.

He would have tried to concentrate on breathing normally again, but his body decided that this was the correct moment to react to the scene in front of him, and his already tight pants became…much, _much_ more uncomfortable. Ow. Owowow_ow_.

Falling off the chair in pain was what he wanted to do, but since Cameron was making her way over to the bar, he had to settle for subtly closing his coat to hide the problem and trying not to whimper.

Cameron grinned as she approached. "It looks like we all had the same idea."

"I was just saying that," Foreman replied, "although I think you win the prize—you look exactly like Inara."

"Thanks, Foreman," the immunologist replied, and after a beat turned her gaze to their boss. "What's this, House? You're not defending your costume making abilities? Something much more _urgent_ must have you preoccupied."

The glint in her eyes caught his attention. Cameron knew exactly what she was doing to him—and she was enjoying it! Righteous indignation gave him the strength to even out his breathing and ignore the pain below his waist.

But before he could formulate a scathing response, Jason from cardiology was asking her to dance, and she was gone, the scent of exotic perfume trailing behind her. House stayed at the bar, watching Cameron flit from partner to partner, charming fellow doctors and donors alike. She could probably get Cuddy most of the charitable donations the hospital needed, if she ever tried. It was over an hour later before she came back to the bar and sat down beside House, sighing in relief as she toed off her high heels. "So, Mal, huh?" she grinned, leaning back against the bar. "I knew that's who you were going to come as. Fits. Captain of the ship, always doing the right thing even if it's not the most legal. Cranky and sarcastic, but in the end loves his crew and always defends them. And has a dark moment in his past that defines who he is today. Yeah, you fit Malcolm Reynolds perfectly."

House leaned back against the bar himself. So she was going down this road. Well, she had better be in for a long night—she knew that he gave as good as he got. "Thanks for the analysis, Freud. See, I thought you were going to come as Kaylee—all that happiness and naïveté and optimism in the inherent goodness of the human race. But the more I think about it, the more I can see you as Inara. The calm exterior façade covering up the real feelings inside. Hiding behind rules and customs and formalities. Hell, you've even got the whoring down, although if it's only been Chase you've got a ways to go."

He winced as the words left his mouth. Even for him that was being pretty harsh. Cameron, however, didn't seem phased at all. In fact, she had a small smile on her face, as if she'd expected this. "Very in character, House. Mal and Inara are always throwing hurtful barbs at each other, aren't they? But they never seem to really mean them." She leaned towards him. "What is it Mal said? Inara fogs things up, spins him about." House blinked. Cameron just laughed, low and sensual. "I thought about coming as Kaylee. But you see, like I said earlier, I knew you'd be coming as Mal." She leaned in even closer, until her curls brushed his cheek, to whisper hotly in his ear. "And it's not Kaylee people think Mal should be having sex with."

He could see the nervousness hidden behind Cameron's coy expression as she pulled back. She wasn't sure if this would work, but she knew what she wanted and was going for it, no matter what. She was doing what he always told her to do, and he should be proud of her.

And he would be, if he wasn't _incredibly_ aroused.

Holding onto his control by his fingertips, he finally managed to croak out a response. "You know, not everyone pairs Mal with Inara."

Cameron's nervousness seemed to disappear at his response. "This is true," she said, "but not a problem. It's all a matter of who _you_ think Mal should be with." She leaned in again, voice oozing sensuality, "Is it Inara?" She straightened, clasping her hands behind her back in a faintly military gesture. "Or maybe Zoë?" Her expression softened, and her voice morphed into a drawl. "If'n ya think it's Kaylee, I'm sure I could find a mechanic's uniform somewheres." She cocked her head to the side and looked at him from behind a curtain of hair. "Or she could be the crazy girl."

House could only stare at her, having truly been rendered speechless. Cameron stood up to leave, throwing her parting shot over her shoulder. "Let me know when you decide. I'll be waiting in the conference room."

A grin slowly started curling up his lips as he watched Cameron leave the room. He downed the rest of his drink and slammed the empty glass down on the bar before following after Cameron as quickly as he could.

Charity events were _awesome_.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Finally, something I can cross off of my "story ideas that need to be started/finished" list. One down, ten more to go.

This one's dedicated to **Asteria**, because her suggestion of House having a quote-off with a patient was the inspiration for the chapter. The muse made it take a strange (i.e., not humorous) turn at the end, however, so I'm not sure how much you'll enjoy it.

**Feedback:** Is love. A big thank you goes out to everyone who's reviewed this story and the prequel. I hope to hear from all of you again soon!

* * *

Wilson was never in his office when House needed him the most. His search for the oncologist took him through the cafeteria and by the nurse's station before finally finding him in a patient's room, starting what looked to be a new round of chemotherapy. He spared a quick glance at the patient—bald, female, late teens—before turning back to Wilson. "You weren't in your office," he said accusingly. 

His friend just rolled his eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot that I'm supposed to be at your beck and call. Never mind the fact that I have patients,"—he gestured toward the girl in the bed, who was looking at them with equal parts confusion and amusement—"something you couldn't really understand—"

"Hey! Diagnostics has patients. Maybe not as many as you, but they're patients nonetheless. In fact, that's why I'm here—we need you to rule out cancer."

Wilson just looked at him. "And the fact that I'm _with a patient_ apparently means nothing to you?"

House scoffed. "Is she dying?"

A voice came from behind them. "Quite possibly."

"Claudia!" Wilson admonished. "I thought we said you weren't going to talk like that. There are still plenty of options available."

The girl—Claudia, apparently—shrugged. "I promised I wouldn't just give up. It's still entirely possible that I could die. I'm not going to get my hopes up, either."

House nodded, a small grin on his face. "A realist. I like it." He turned back to the oncologist. "Let me amend my statement—is she dying _right now_? Cause I have a guy who's going down hill faster than a moss-collecting stone rolling down a slippery slope." He paused. "And I think I just _really_ mixed up my metaphors."

Claudia giggled and Wilson sighed, a small smile just starting to quirk up the corners of his lips. "One problem: I'm starting Claudia on a new type of treatment, and I need to stay here to monitor her for any adverse reactions."

House quickly waved away his concerns. "So I stay with her. Problem solved." Off Wilson's disbelieving look, he exclaimed, "What? I may not like it, but I do know how to monitor a patient. I didn't become head of Diagnostics on my good looks alone, you know."

Wilson looked over at the teen. "Would you be okay with that, Claudia?"

She nodded. "Go—I'll be fine. Besides," she said, turning her gaze to House, "I'm intrigued."

Finally convinced, Wilson left, instructing House to page him immediately if anything happened. The moment he was no longer in sight House sprawled out in the chair beside Claudia's bed, reaching for the remote for the TV tucked away in the corner. "Time for General Hospital."

Claudia stared at him. "You watch _soap operas_?"

"Hey," he said, pointing the remote at her, "don't diss the guy who's supposed to save your life if you stop breathing."

The teen looked at him as if she wasn't sure whether to be scared or laugh. Success. He started to turn toward the TV, but before he could press any buttons he noticed the stuffed teddy bear sitting innocuously on the bedside table. It wasn't the colorful, tacky picture of Buddha displayed on its shirt that caught his attention—it was the quote that accompanied it. "Dear Buddha, please send me a pony, and a plastic rocket, and…"

He picked it up to study it more closely. "Nice bear."

Her eyes lit up at the statement. "You're a Browncoat?"

"Of course. All the smart people are."

Seemingly ecstatic at finding another Firefly fan, Claudia chattered on. "Oh my God, my friends and I love that show. We all have the DVDs and watch them all the time. I think I have the episodes memorized."

House looked at her from the corner of his eye. "Really." He thought for a moment, then spoke again. "Dear Diary—today I was pompous and my sister was crazy."

Claudia laughed. "I love that entire speech of Jayne's. It's from Safe."

"Everyone loves that one. Next up—My food is problematic."

She replied without hesitation. "River, in The Message."

"Okay. Those were easy. No messing around this time. How about this one—Won't deal with me direct. Taken an irrational dislike."

Again, no hesitation. "Badger, in Shindig. And that was supposed to be hard?"

House frowned, sensing the challenge in her voice. He was never one to back off, not ever for bald little cancer patients. This girl was going down.

By the time Wilson got back, House was 0 for 6.

* * *

Three weeks into their little tête-à-tête she was finishing the quotes for him. He found her in one of the hospital's courtyards, enjoying the unseasonably warm weather. "My God, you're like a trained ape! Without—" 

Claudia didn't miss a beat. "—without the training. No, apes are noble creatures; you're some sort of man-ape-thing that went horribly wrong."

Spinning on his heel, House stiffly limped back into the building, grumbling all the way.

"Better luck next time!" Claudia called out, grinning.

* * *

Two weeks later he was playing dirty. He spied her resting on a bench on the second floor balcony, people-watching from the secluded position, and went in for the kill. "Brothers and sisters don't get married…" 

"Well, they do on some planets," Claudia finished, "but those planets are really bad." She laughed. "What, House, did you think I didn't watch the outtakes?"

She laughed even harder when he swore and turned around, brushing by Foreman in his haste. He glanced at the teen. "Get him again?"

When she nodded, he smirked and gave her a high-five.

* * *

Another week, and House was desperate. He found her in her room, looking a little paler than normal but sitting up and reading a book. "The 'Hero of Canton' song. Sing it." 

Claudia looked up from her book, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Too bad I don't have my guitar with me—then I could play it for you too."

He froze, staring at her with wide eyes. "You can _play_ the song?"

She shrugged. "I play the guitar, and one day I was messing around online and found a site where someone had transcribed the chords. Didn't take much after that."

House stood there in silent contemplation. He didn't have any of his instruments at work, but if he could slip away…"I'll be right back," he said, and disappeared into the hall.

A few hours later Wilson was drawn to Claudia's room by music and a cacophony of voices. He poked his head in.

House was sitting by Claudia's bed, guitars in both of their hands, with Chase, Foreman, and Cameron sprawled in various chairs. They were all laughing and singing—something about a man named Jayne? He just smiled and left them to their song.

* * *

Claudia wasn't reading when House strolled into her room the next week. She was just laying in bed, listless and tired, the dark shadows under her eyes accentuating how thin she'd gotten. He sat down heavily next to her and was quiet for a few moments. 

"We're not gonna die. We can't die, Bendis. You know why?"

The teen gave him a watery smile. "Because we are so. Very. Pretty. We are just too pretty for God—" Her voice broke. "For God to let us die." A pause. "Thank you."

"No problem." He pulled out his portable DVD player, and they spent the rest of the afternoon watching their favorite movie, ignoring the real world.

* * *

An empty bed greeted House the next morning. A woman was standing next to it, staring blankly into the small cardboard box she was holding. "When?" 

Startled, the woman glanced up at him. "Last night, around midnight." She took a shaky breath and wiped her eyes, then walked over to him, still cradling the box. "I'm Claudia's mom. You must be Doctor House. She was always talking about you. The cancer made her miss college and spend a year and a half bouncing in and out of hospitals, but for the past two months she'd been happier than I'd seen her in a long time. And that was because of you."

He looked at his feet, uncomfortable. "I didn't do anything…"

She shook her head violently, eyes shining. "Yes. Yes, you did, and I'll never be able to repay you for that." She started rummaging through the box she held. "Before I forget—there was something Claudia wanted you to have…" She finally found the object and held it out to him.

It was the bear with Buddha on its shirt.

* * *

House sat in his darkened office, staring at the bear in his hands. The thing was tacky and gaudy—like the doctor teddy bear figurine of Wilson's that he'd mocked a while back, then thrown in the trash. 

He wondered how long it had taken before Wilson had fished it out.

There was a noise at the door, and he looked up to see the doctor in question. "Don't say a word," he muttered, voice gruffer than usual.

Wilson shook his head. "I wasn't going to, House."

He sat there a moment longer, eyeing the cheap stuffed animal, before carefully setting it down on his desk, right beside his giant red ball.

The bear never left his office again.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Warning—there be fluffy House/Cameron in this chapter. To those who don't enjoy the romance: I'm sorry. I am but a weak, weak shipper. To those that do: enjoy.

**Feedback:** Wins. Please review!

* * *

House sighed in relief as he entered his living room, the warmth of the room starting to leech into his bones. He'd let Cameron and Chase leave hours ago, and stayed with Foreman until they were both convinced their patient wouldn't code again. Now it was late, the sun having long since set, and he was just glad to be home.

He threw the patient's file on the coffee table, rolling his eyes when it landed on a small pile of fashion and beauty magazines. He'd been going out with Cameron for over a year, living with her for a good portion of that time, and yet he still wasn't quite accustomed to the shear amount of girly accoutrements she possessed. But as much as he complained about it, he didn't really mind—it made the place seem less like a bachelor pad and more like a home.

The enticing smell of food was in the air and he followed it, wandering into the kitchen to see Cameron stirring a pot on the stove. He feigned astonishment. "Oh my God, she cooks!"

She turned, a smile on her face. "Very funny. I didn't feel like takeout, and it's not like you were going to make anything." She moved over to the cutting board and started chopping some onions and peppers. "How's Mrs. Joseph doing?"

House made his way over to the stove. "Better. It looks like she's finally stabilized, although Foreman's staying the night, just to make sure. And you know I can cook—I just usually don't make the effort." He leaned over the pot. It looked like some kind of stew, and the varying spices made his mouth water. "Mmm. Wife soup."

Coming back over to the stove Cameron laughed, swatting his hand away as she slid the vegetables into the pot. "Get away, you. It's not ready—it has to simmer for at least another half an hour." She twisted a knob, lowering the heat. "And besides," she teased, "you can't call it wife soup, because I'm not your wife."

He stood behind her silently for a few moments. Then he moved closer, until his chest was brushing the back of her sweater, pulling his hand out of his pocket and resting it beside hers on the counter. "We could fix that, you know."

She stilled, gasping slightly as she turned in his arms, looking up at him in astonishment. He angled his head, and she followed his gaze to the hand he had rested against the counter.

He was holding a small velvet box.

Cameron looked back up at him, her eyes beginning to shimmer. "Greg…" she whispered.

All of his normal bravado left him. "Answer? Please?"

She laughed softly at his nervousness. "Yes," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "Of course. _Yes_."

He slid the ring onto her finger, and then she was kissing him, winding her arms around his neck as he pressed her back into the counter.

When they broke apart, she smiled mischievously at him. "You know, technically you _still_ can't call it wife soup…"

He laughed as he grabbed her hands, leading her to their bedroom. "Details, details…"

* * *


End file.
